A rather ludicrous, melodramatic and bloody ending to a book that doesn't really deserve one. I won't spoil it for you if you're planning to read it,
Time for closure on this one. A late twentieth Century Bildungsroman essentially with plenty of digression into excessive drug taking, what it must have been like to be a struggling music journalist in the nineteen eighties and trying to cop off with barely sane junkie femme fatale. It's a reasonably written book. Hoskyns is a good writer. But it's all rather seedy and uncritical of slightly wanton and directionless behaviour for my liking. And frankly the ending doesn't work.
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